


I live the envelope pushed far enough to believe this

by sinfuldesire_archivist



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-22
Updated: 2006-12-22
Packaged: 2018-09-03 05:51:59
Rating: Teen & Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8699755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinfuldesire_archivist/pseuds/sinfuldesire_archivist
Summary: S-C-H-M-O-O-P, pure and unadulterated.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally archived at [Sinful-Desire.org](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sinful_Desire). To preserve the archive, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Sinful Desire collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sinfuldesire/profile).

**Title:** I live the envelope pushed far enough to believe this  
**Author:** [ ](http://keepaofthecheez.livejournal.com/profile)[**keepaofthecheez**](http://keepaofthecheez.livejournal.com/)  
**Pairing:** The Unambiguously Gay Duo (Jared/Jensen)  
**Rating:** PG-13 – er, just some cursing and kissing and stuff. *coff*  
**Wordcount:** 1, 795  
**Summary:** S-C-H-M-O-O-P, pure and unadulterated.   
**Disclaimer:** I have no affiliation with any of the individuals depicted within.   
**A/N:** Wet, lickery kisses to [ ](http://technosage.livejournal.com/profile)[**technosage**](http://technosage.livejournal.com/), my partner in awesome, for the fantastic beta and general brainstorming help. ♥ She rocks, guys. And she’s all mine. *licks*  
[ ](http://estrella30.livejournal.com/profile)[**estrella30**](http://estrella30.livejournal.com/), [ ](http://merepersiflage.livejournal.com/profile)[**merepersiflage**](http://merepersiflage.livejournal.com/), [ ](http://users.livejournal.com/__tiana__/profile)[**__tiana__**](http://users.livejournal.com/__tiana__/) and [ ](http://poisontaster.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://poisontaster.livejournal.com/)**poisontaster** also get honorable mentions for listening to me whine about this and loving me despite it.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
**i.  
  
_It’s like how I can talk to you when you’re not even there--_**  
  
  
Jared wipes a hand down his face, staring at his irritated reflection in the wall mirror and blowing out a breath that sounds shaky-soft to his ears. He narrows his eyes, watches while the furrow in his brow grows deeper.   
  
“You’re being a fucking idiot.”  
  
He can’t help but hear Jensen’s wry reply in his head – “ _Then why’re you having such a hard time with this, Big Jay? You’re always a fucking idiot._ ”  
  
“Thanks for the support,” Jared mutters out loud, to no one.  
  
Thing is, Jensen’s right. Or the phantom voice in his head is, anyway. Jared’s never had a problem making a complete ass out of himself and in fact, kind of enjoys it. He knows he’s not the smartest guy in the world – even if his mama’s a teacher, none of it really ever rubbed off – but he’s got a good sense of humor and people seem to like him. If Jared can make someone laugh by telling a dumb joke at an inappropriate time, or doing a drunken half-step at some network event, he’s more than willing to lose a little pride for a good cause.  
  
When it comes to stuff Jared wants for _himself_ , though. Well, that’s just a whole different kettle of fish. Or actually, that’s not really true – it’s only different when it involves Jensen. Because then, it’s not a joke.   
  
He bites his lip, takes a breath, and tries again. Gets as far as “I just wanted to tell you—” before his throat closes up and, fuck, he’s only talking to _himself._ But maybe that’s the problem.  
  
Jared doesn’t really know how to be serious. Just ask Sandy – she’s got a laundry list of his faults taped to her refrigerator, although she’ll still tell anyone who asks that “she’s not bitter.” Jared can’t really blame her. He just wishes…he just wishes some of her parting words hadn’t cut so deep.  
  
Because Sandy’s right about one thing: Jared _doesn’t_ know how to be serious. But when it comes to Jensen, he doesn’t know how to be anything but.  
  
“I’ve been thinking about this for awhile,” he starts again, voice and expression filled with earnest nerves. If he tries hard enough, he can almost - _almost_ \- see the shift in glass, the narrowing of forehead and broadening of cheek and jaw. Moles become freckles and hazel eyes go green around the pupil, and it’s almost enough.  
  
_“Sounds dangerous,”_ comes the sly answer from within, and Jared’s lips curve.  
  
“Just shut up and listen.” His fingers itch at his sides with the urge to rake up and into his hair. _Stall tactics._   
  
There’s a quick knock on the door, and then it swings wide open on a gust of cool wind, scattering leaves outside in a quiet rustle. The image in the mirror shatters, and it’s no one but Jared again.   
  
“Who’re you talking to?” Jensen glances around, brows climbing at the empty room before lifting his gaze to Jared’s.  
  
Jared’s smile is easy and soft. “No one.”   
  
  
 

xxx

  
  
  
**ii.  
  
_the thing is, you have the prettiest face I’ve ever seen--_**  
  
  
“Wakey wakey!”  
  
That’s the last warning he gets before being doused by freezing spray, and his eyes open wide on a sputtered curse. He’s out of the chair and sprawled on the green blanket of grass in an instant, shaking his head and sending crystalline drops of water flying in every direction while laughter echoes in his ears.  
  
Mike’s still holding the dark snake of a garden hose, thumb splayed across the mouth. He takes a bow as Tom claps behind him, expression filled with unholy glee. Jared gives about a second’s thought to leaping up and strangling both of them, but he’s pretty sure he remembers doing something exactly like this the last time Mike had fallen asleep on a similar occasion. Damn the bastard and his elephant memory.  
  
He’s soaked down to his boxer-briefs and grimaces when he stands up, feeling the wet _squish_ in uncomfortable places. Mike’s still laughing, and Jared flips him the bird, looking and feeling like a drowned rat.  
  
“S’what you get,” he hears Jensen’s amused voice drawl, and turns to find his friend grinning from his spot behind the grill. Those bright green eyes are crinkled at the corners, pink lips curved as he meets Jared’s gaze.   
  
“What, drowned?” Jared calls back, wandering over and behind Jensen’s shoulder to watch as Jen flips burgers with lazy skill.   
  
Late afternoon sun catches on the light sheen of sweat dotting Jensen’s back, highlighting developed muscle and glowing flesh. Jared can’t stop the flood of heat from spreading low in his belly when Jensen shifts and turns to grab more lighter fluid, the low-slung waist of his shorts slipping down another few inches to reveal lean hips and a disappearing trail of thickening hair. The ancient moccasins on his feet and the dingy ballcap flipped backward over soft and unwashed hair make Jared smile.  
  
This isn’t a side of Jen that anyone ever really gets to see; rumpled, free, and easy. Jared knows it’s always there, hidden behind careful eyes and a just-this-short-of-distant smile, but it’s something altogether different to witness the transformation.  
  
He figures it was during a time like this that he fell so fiercely for what Jensen tries so hard to hide.  
  
  
 

xxx

  
  
  
**iii.  
  
_I walk into a room and the first thing I recognize is you--_**  
  
  
Jared’s got this pillow in his apartment. Some huge fluffy-down thing his sister bought him because she saw it on an infomercial. It’s supposed to induce deep sleep and Megan figured, with Jared’s work schedule, he could use it. But it’s too soft, too big, and the only bed action the pillow’s ever seen was of the sleep- _less_ kind.  
  
Jensen loves it. Every time he comes over, he’s upstairs and then down – pillow in hand and then under his head, against his back – settling in for whatever he and Jared plan to do that night, day, whatever. When he leaves, the pillow still smells like the cologne or hair gel that Jensen never really seems able to wash away.  
  
Those nights, Jared hugs the pillow to his chest in the dark and sleeps so deeply he never wants to wake up.  
  
If he were a man of words, he’d say Jensen’s scent reminds him of home. Of late summer dips in the pond down the road, freshly-mowed lawn, slick rain. Earthy and raw.   
  
It’s intensified on set, when they’ve both been working endless hours on location. Sometimes they’re covered in dirt, mud, whatever gunk or grime Sam and Dean come into contact with that episode. Other times, it’s just good, honest sweat, and Jared watches Jensen and thinks of clean, cool water and soft blades of grass, nostrils flaring as though he might catch the scent.  
  
One day when he gets a little too friendly with the punch bowl at a launch party, Jensen has to drive him home. Jared spends the twenty minute drive in tortured silence, breathing Jensen deep, and thinks of a million different conversations he’ll never begin. Later, alone and flat-out on the mattress Jensen had helped him pick, Jared stares hard at _the_ pillow and whispers, “You smell clean, Jen.”  
  
  
 

xxx

  
  
  
**iv.  
  
_I’ve counted the freckles on your nose, and I wanna touch ‘em all--_**  
  
  
Jared’s a touchy-feely kind of person. _No sense of personal space,_ he’s been scolded more than once, usually on the tail end of a playful swat or teasing smile.  
  
With Jensen, though, he’s very careful not to touch the way he wants.  
  
“You gonna take me down?” Jensen’s grinning at him, posture solid and defensive, ready for attack. He curls a hand up, gesturing for Jared to approach a la Neo, and Jared’s lips twitch in response. “C’mon, _Sammy_. Show your big brother what you got.”  
  
Jared goes hot and flushed, the simple sparring match taking on an entirely new meaning when he reads the cryptic challenge shining deep in green-gold eyes. He rolls up the worn-soft cotton of his sleeves, sees Jensen’s gaze drop as his tongue flicks out across his mouth, and then he’s up caught in those eyes again. The green seems to glow brighter than before.  
  
Even as he answers with “Don’t wanna rough up that pretty face,” he’s moving forward, a quicksilver flash, catching Jensen around the middle. Jensen grunts, ducks his jab then slips out and behind him, slinging his arm across Jared’s shoulders in a half-hug. It’s an immediate flash back to bright lights and strange faces; Jensen’s hand pressed up against his chest, indulgent smile in place for the cameras while fingertips fluttered lightly over breastbone.   
  
It’s the consistency that keeps Jared awake at night, how he can’t even chalk it up to his own wishful thinking anymore. But every time he looks into those lidded, lazy eyes, he’s questioning himself all over again.  
  
Jared hisses out a breath when Jensen’s grip tightens, dragging Jared’s arm up and back at an angle that’s awkward but still safely comfortable. Soft, warm lips press up against the tender shell of Jared’s ear, and he resolutely doesn’t shudder when that whiskey-rough voice murmurs “Beauty before brains, eh?”  
  
  
 

xxx

  
  
  
**v.  
  
_and it’s like I can’t breathe without tasting your air--_**  
  
  
When it finally happens, it takes Jared a minute to catch up. It’s a bit like taking a free-fall, or teetering on a sharp ledge. The rush is both terrifying and expected, and Jared’s immediately addicted.   
  
Jensen whispers his name, hoarse and guttural, and it flavors Jared’s tongue and urges him to let go. Give in. There’s a slick-slide as Jensen’s lips find his again, and Jared’s hands tighten on either side of Jensen’s face. His fingers creep up into close-cropped hair, tugging Jensen’s head up so he can mouth the underside of stubbled jaw. Jensen’s breath catches, and Jared tastes excitement and thrumming blood beneath skin.  
  
“Jared.” It’s a scratchy moan, and Jared moves with it, thigh pressed up between Jensen’s as he backs his co-star against the wall. Jensen cusses low, and Jared catches it in the back of his throat, silky-sweet.   
  
Jensen still tastes like the beer they’d had after work, thick and yeasty, and there’s a bitter-salt zest behind his teeth. Jared digs deeper, tongue sliding and curling as Jensen presses down against him. Hard cock is riding Jared’s thigh, blunt fingers clutching at his hips. When Jensen’s eyes open, Jared spies hope, _relief_ shining in green-gold, and he tastes victory.  
  
“Jesus. _Please._ ”   
  
He’s not sure who says it, but then the words aren’t important, not anymore. He’s done talking to a face in the mirror.


End file.
